Category: Kristine Hughes

A Couple In England – Day Two – Part Two

And so let us tear ourselves away from Beau Brummell’s doorstep in Chesterfield Street and return to the top of the pavement and Charles Street and my preoccupation with doorways.

You have to allow that the doorway at No. 26 is a real pip, complete with a plaster bust above the entranceway. Neither Hibbert nor Google have enlightened me thus far, so if anyone knows more about this house, please let me know. Let us proceed . . . . .

And wander aimlessly through the deserted streets until we find ourselves at this interesting building at the entrance to Hays Mews.
Look . . . . another bust. . . . . I am just now noticing that there was a plaque beside the door. I know I didn’t notice it when I was standing there, or I’d have gone up and read it. Now I’m left to wonder, as are you, what this building houses. Sorry, old thing, wasn’t thinking . . . . .

Let’s make a right into Hays Mews, shall we?

This area was laid out circa 1750 to provide stables and coachhouses for the houses in Berkeley Square and adjacent streets. Architecturally, not much has changed, thank goodness, although there are now cars parked on the street, rather than a jaunty cabriolet.

 As I’ve already divulged the contents of my pockets, you know that I had no map with me and, truly, from this point on I simply wandered the streets as the whim took me, so I don’t have detailed descriptions of where some of the following photos were taken.

I wound up back at Charles Street, below, and still had the streets all to myself. I did warn you that I was oddly pre-occupied with house fronts and doorways, didn’t I?

The Only Running Footman, at the corner of Hays Mews and Charles Street. Now an upmarket restaurant, for centuries, it was known as the I Am The Only Running Footman pub, frequented by servants from the houses in the area.

I’ll leave you here, in Clarges Mews, for a bit until the next installment. I hope  you’ve enjoyed our Mayfair stroll half as much as I did.

Part Three Coming Soon . . . . . . .

A Couple In England – Day Two – Part One



 

I awoke on Thursday way before the Husband to the realization that I was in London. It was a bit after 8 a.m., but the room was still dark as I climbed out of bed and crept to the bathroom. A short time later, I emerged to find Hubby still sleeping. And London still awaiting me outside. Stealthily, I rummaged around in drawers and suitcases until I found something to wear on the top and something to wear on the bottom. As to what these two garments consisted of I could not have cared less. I donned socks, hoping they were mine and not the Husbands, pulled on my boots, scarf and coat and dropped the room key, money, cigs and lighter and my camera into the coat pockets and crept like a cat burglar out of the door.
 
Emerging from the hotel, I found that it was overcast and drizzling. Undaunted, I grinned my way up the street to Caffe Nero, where I got a medium mocha and took it outside to one of the tables. I sat down, lit up and sipped – God was good and all was right in my world.


The Church of Christ the Scientist is just across Curzon Street, and beside that are C.F. Trumper, Men’s Hairdressers

and just to the left of that, G. Heywood Hill Ltd. booksellers.


Of course, neither was open at that early hour, so I took myself off on my long anticipated Mayfair stroll. You’ll recall that all I’d wanted to do since yesterday was to walk the streets and poke about at my leisure, which I did. And found my interest focusing, for some odd reason, on doorways. Here we go . . . . . . .



Let’s pay homage to the Beau first, shall we? It’s only fitting. Taking a right onto Queen Street, we stroll up to the top and make a left onto Charles Street, keeping on until we come to the corner of Chesterfield Street, where Beau Brummell lived. Before we turn in, though, take in the door across the street. And the elaborate railings. And the shrubbery on the terrace. And the pediments.


Now look back down the street, at the way we just came. See the street lights, the gentle curve of the street, the wet roads, the grey skies. Not another soul in sight . . . . London in the morning . . . . joy!



 
And midway down Chesterfield Street, on the left, we find Brummell’s house – let us linger here a moment in the drizzle and contemplate this particular doorway, shall we? Just imagine the visitors who must have come and gone through that door, with its elegant side and fan lights. Visitors aside, just imagine Brummell himself coming and going through that door. Oh, to have the mystery of what he looked like solved at long last! Did he look like this . . . . .
 

or more like this “I’ve just smelled something frightful” rendering?


Or possibly an amalgam of both?

In the early morning quiet, with the streets deserted, it’s easy to imagine a carriage drawing round the corner or the sound of a service door closing upon a maid who has just taken in a delivery. A horse may whinny in the distance, someone may shout in the mews two streets away, while the aristocracy sleep warm in their beds, having turned in just a few hours ago after a night of Regency revelry . . . .  
 
But back to the house . . . . .

 
 
Incidentally, Lord Rosebery lived here, too. 
 
 
 

Day Two – Part Two Coming Soon

A Couple In England – Day One – Part Two

You may recall that in the first half of my post about our first day in London, I left you at the gates of the In and Out Club on Piccadilly. It was cold, grey and wet; I was chomping at the bit to get into the midst of London, while Hubby was a tad less so. And it was Boxing Day, so that most things were closed.
“What now?” asked the Husband. I looked at him. What, indeed? I hadn’t factored in the weather. Or the closings. And speaking of closings, they made not a whit of difference to the hoardes of people walking briskly past us up and down Piccadilly. I looked across the street at the entrance to Green Park. What to do, what to do? Drawing upon my past experiences in London, not to mention the times I’d been over as as a tour guide, I went through my mental Roledex searching for inspiration.

“Come on,” I told Hubby, guiding him by the arm towards the crossing light. Over the road we went, then headed towards Apsley House until we got to the bus stop.

“Why are we standing here?” asked Hubby, naturally enough.
“We’re waiting for the bus. The Big Red tour bus.” I smiled encouragingly, recalling how much fun the Husband had had on the bus the last time we’d been in London together – when we’d ridden all the routes at his suggestion. And taken the Thames River cruise that our tickets also included.
He looked skeptical. “How do you know it stops here?” I pointed at the sign.

The Husband’s face lit with sunshine. “I love the bus tour!” Things were looking up. The next bus showed up sharpish and on we hopped. We paid for our fares and the Hubby took two pair of headphones from the attendant, who encouraged us to head up the stairs to the top level.
“The front of the bus is covered. You won’t get wet and you’ll have a better view. You don’t want to sit down here,” he said. Before I could respond, the Husband was all but pushing me up the stairs.
“Hurry up!” he encouraged. “Quick, before the good seats are all taken.” He apparently hadn’t noticed that the bus was thus far empty. Up we went and had our pick of seats. We chose two right in front of the big windscreen, sat down and plugged in our headphones.
“This is great!”
I smiled back at him. “Happy?”
“Sure. Aren’t you?” You bet. The bus pulled away from the curb and the narrative began. “The very first Hard Rock Cafe can be seen on the right . . . . . . . and the large residence coming up just ahead is Apsley House, home to the Dukes of Wellington . . . . . . . the Wellington Arch . . . . . . . . . the Lanesborough Hotel, formerly St. George’s Hospital . . . . . . “
Hubby turned to me with a grin and mouthed, “Apsley House!” He pointed at me and mouthed again, “Artie!” I nodded and grinned in return. It was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.
Up Park Lane we went and I spied the Winter Wonderland set up behind Apsley House in Hyde Park. “That’s where we’re going on Friday night,” I told Hubby. Soon we were at Marble Arch, then Oxford Street, which was absolutely crowded with people. Round London we rode – Trafalgar Square, the Duke of York’s column . . . . . Westminster Abbey and Big Ben.

Past the Embankment, the Tower of London and over Tower Bridge we rode. The narrative directed our attentention to St. George Wharf Tower on the left, which is destined to become the tallest residential building in London and which, unfortunately, would be the scene of a helicopter crash in just two weeks time.

We crossed back over the River and before long we passed Buckingham Palace.
And, once again, Big Ben.
Needless to say, the bus tour was a smashing success. Hubby and I were back on the same page, he was as glad as I to be in London and all seemed right with the world. On that note, we went back to the Green Park Hilton and had dinner in their lovely restaurant and then went upstairs to properly unpack. Climbing into bed a short while later, I kissed the husband and turned out the light secure in the knowledge that tomorrow I’d be waking up in England. On the street where Bertie and Jeeves lived, no less.
Day Two Coming Soon . . . . . . .

How the Duke of Rutland Spent His Birthday

The Court Circular
Thursday January 10 1835
THIS JOURNAL. BEING STAMPED, CIRCULATES POSTAGE FREE TO ALL PARTS OF THE UNITED KINGDOM. ORIGINAL PAPERS.
CELEBRATION OF THE DUKE OP RUTLAND’S BIRTH-DAY, AT BELVOIR CASTLE, ON MONDAY LAST, THE 5th INSTANT
John, 5th Duke of Rutland
We are ever gratified in having to record the particulars of this truly English festival, presenting, as it does, a combination of all that is splendid and hospitable, and including in its circle of participators not only the titled, but the intire of the more humble friends and dependents of the Duke of Rutland, than whom a more popular Nobleman does not exist . . .
The natal day of his Grace falling on Sunday, occasioned the postponement of the general celebration to the succeeding day. Covers were, however, laid on the 4th instant, for a numerous circle, amongst whom was the illustrious hero of Waterloo, who had arrived late in the afternoon from Apthorpe, in Northamptonshire, the seat of the Earl of Westmorland. On Monday the leading guests at the Castle enjoyed a protracted day’s shooting. The fine woods which encircle the Castle abound with pheasants, and repeated discharges re-echoed throughout their extent till nightfall. The Duke of Wellington was remarkably successful, seldom missing his aim. When darkness began to prevail, the illumination of the interior of the Castle commenced, and proceeded until it assumed one continuous blaze of light. The Guard Chamber, the lengthened gothic Corridors, the two Staircases, the Dancing Gallery, Picture Saloon and State Dining-room, and the Regent’s Gallery, wherein the guests assembled previously to dinner being announced, presented, «”ith the various treasures of art they contained, > series of attractions of no ordinary character. Within the area of the great staircase the military band of the Leicestershire Militia was stationed. Their commencement of ” O, the Roast Beef of Old England,” was the signal that all the arrangements for the repast were completed. The Duke of Rutland, with the Countess of Denbigh on his arm, led the way to the banQDetting-room, followed by the intire of his guem. As the cortege passed through the Picture Saloon, the many spectators who had there assembled, warmly greeted his Grace as well as the Duke of Wellington, with reiterated plaudits. The Duke of Rutland took the centre of the table, with the Countesses of Denbigh and Brownlow on either hand; immediately opposite sat the Duke of Wellington, between Lady Adeliza Manners and his niece the Viscountess Burghersh.
Interior, Belvoir Castle
We have before had occasion to enter into a minute description of this fine apartment, so much admired for its very appropriate and classic enrichments. On this occasion it appeared to peculiar advantage. The gold and silver vessels on the tables and sideboards were arranged with consummate taste, and finely relieved with beautiful vases, containing the rarest flowers, whilst the immense mirrors at cither end reflected fairy-like vistas of seemingly immeasurable extent. On a lofty pedestal, covered with scarlet drapery, appeared the famous antique wine-cooler. The golden tripods each bore lights as well as the magnificent chandeliers which descend from the elaborately sculptured roof. Most of the gentlemen wore the uniform of the Belvoir Hunt, scarlet coats lined with blue, and the ladies exhibited great taste in their respective costumes. The Countess Brownlow wore a lustrous suit of diamonds of the finest water and oriental costliness. The following were amongst the distinguished assemblage which would have been doubled but for the untoward circumstance of the election occurring at this juncture:—Duke of Rutland, Duke of Wellington, Earl and Countess Denbigh, Right Hon. John Wilson Croker, General Upton, Earl and Countess Brownlow, and the Lady Sophia Cust, Viscount and Viscountess Burghersh, Mr and Lady Elizabeth Drummond, Lord and Lady Manners of Easton, Lords Charles and Robert and Lady Adeliza Manners, Earl and Countess Jermyn, Lord Forester, Rev. Charles Roos Thornton, Miss Goodwin, Lord Rokeby, Hon. Mrs Howard, Sir F. French, Marquess of Granby, etc.
Whilst the banquet is in progress let us take a glimpse at the festivities in other quarters of the Castle. A very numerous and delighted party, after enjoying most excellent dinners, and having partaken of coffee, had assembled in the ball-room, where dancing began, to the fine music of the Militia Band, so early as eight o’clock; in the pauses of which refreshments and supper were liberally supplied. About the hour of eleven, His Grace of Rutland entered, and, bowing on all sides to his gratified friends and dependants, proceeded to the top of the room, and with the Countess of Denbigh led off his favourite contre dame — ‘ The Campbells arc coming.’ The Duke of Wellington followed, with Lady Adeliza Sutton, the Marquess of Granby and Lady Sophia Cust; indeed, nearly the intire of the Ducal party promiscuously joined in
the general dance of more than forty couples, with that unaffected condescension which is ever the attribute of true nobility. With such aids we need scarcely remark the time flew with unwonted rapidity and another dance was called for—and yet another, and it was not until the musicians were fairly overcome with fatigue, that the coming of the final hour for a separation became apparent.
The next morning, the Duke of Wellington said farewell to his munificent Host, and quitted Belvoir Castle, it was understood, for Oxford. His Grace left at seven o’clock, and passed through Melton Mowbray, where, however, he made no long tarrying. The Duke of Rutland will continue to receive a constant succession of visitors at the Castle until the first Newmarket Spring ing, which occurs in April.

A Couple In England – Windsor

As you probably know by now, my Husband, who is accompanying me on my trip to England in a week, is not a history buff, nor is he very good at playing tourist. I have been trying my best to add items to our London and Bath itineraries that he will also enjoy and don’t mind telling you that it’s been a hard slog. Therefore, when it came time to plan our stay in Windsor, the final leg of our trip, I gave up any pretence of pretending that this entire trip wasn’t designed for my sole pleasure and have crafted an itinerary sure to make my Husband’s head spin, whilst no doubt making his feet hurt. You may recall that Victoria, Jo Manning and I have a good friend who lives in Windsor, the author Hester Davenport. Who has actually met the Queen, I might add. You can read all about it here. Last time Vicky and I were in Windsor with Hester, we toured the Castle and visited the grave of Mary Robinson, mistress of George IV, about whom Hester has written a biography.

This time out, Hester and I have been fiendishly crafting an itinerary to gladden any history buff’s heart. No matter that it is guaranteed, at the same time, to send Hubby off the deep end.  We shall be visiting the Windsor and Royal Borough Museum, which Hester has played a part in developing, and will then again be touring Windsor Castle. This time out, we will also be taking a rarely open tour of the royal kitchens, something we are both looking forward to seeing. And I’ll get to see this magnificent portrait of the Duke of Wellington that hangs in the Castle again.
Next day, we’ll be driving to Oatlands in order to visit the pet cemetery of Frederica, Duchess of York, pictured above in black and white. Naturally, Hester and I are both excited about this stop – I can only imagine what Hubby’s reaction will be . . . . Then it’s on to Hampton Court Palace, a place I have never seen, if you can believe it. I’m especially interested in seeing Apartment 8, where the Duke of Wellington’s sister, Lady Anne Smith, lived.
No doubt Hubby will opt out of certain of the aforementioned entertainments. Unfortunatley, the thing he can’t opt out of is our nine hour flight home, followed by a seven hour layover in Newark, and then another flight to Florida. We’ll be leaving England at ten a.m. and not landing in Florida until 11 p.m. – a total of 18 hours travel time. Hubby, naturally, has no idea what he’s in for, as I’ve decided not to spoil the trip by telling him in advance what fate awaits. Have I mentioned that he has a bad back? Reader, it won’t be pretty. So, while I’m looking forward to the trip, at the same time I’m dreading our return journey. I can’t help but think that January 5th, 2013 will be the date of my very own Waterloo. . . . . to be continued (one hopes).